Laundry Day

Farewell, dear laundress of a side street in San Isidro de El General; you’ve served us well. Now, however, The Kid and I have an agreement where in trade for him having brought his washing machine to our rental house, I do his laundry. This seems fair to both of us and saves us the hassle of hauling our dirty clothes to the city, and him the time-consuming process of connecting his generator and doing what he considers a dreaded chore at his finca.

Washing machines here are different than in the States and ours is typical Costaricense. The machine stands at one end of our back porch with an extension cord running in the door. A large compartment on the left holds the dirty laundry and is filled by the garden hose. The detergent is concentrated and made for use in cold water. A dial can be set to ‘normal’, ‘fuerte’ (strong) or ‘drenado’ (drain). I set it to normal and then also set the timer on top (tiempo de lavado) for the maximum time, 15 minutes, and the washer begins its agitating, accompanied by the clicking of the timer.

When done, I turn the dial to drenado and washwater pours out of a hose in the rear of the machine and runs into a little grassy trench near the porch. The washer is then refilled with clean rinse water, agitated several more minutes, then drained. This process is repeated a few times if needed. For our clothes, no. For The Kid’s clothes, yes. I believe he rolls around in the mud while working on his many outdoor projects.

The clean wet laundry is then put in the compartment on the right, a little at a time. A dial above it says tiempo de centrifugo and I set it for four minutes. As the drum spins, water pours in a little stream from the hose. When done, the clothes are only lightly damp and surprisingly completely clean. I shake them out and hang them on the clothesline.

Timing is everything. If laundry is started after 9 a.m. the clothes usually won’t dry in one day, as here in the cloud-forest climate the occasional clouds roll in most days beginning in late afternoon. We are at 10 degrees latitude and as the low sun moves from one side of the mountain to the other, I rotate the laundry on the line to its other side halfway through the drying process.

Nearly every village house has laundry of some sort hanging out every day, although most use either nearby shrubs or fences, draping them with colorful clothes. Those that do use a clothesline usually have it under a narrow eave of the house for protection from the fierce sun. A few pieces of clothing that I’ve had for years are suddenly faded; lace curtains are dried in the shade to save the threads. I seem to be the only person for miles who has clothespins, brought from the States. I like doing laundry; it has its own quiet rhythm, joining my morning with that of the other (mostly) women of Costa Rica in this everyday task. 